


Wild Magic

by TheRedScreech



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Company is cursed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedScreech/pseuds/TheRedScreech
Summary: There are many different kinds of magic. Some are malicious, some are benevolent, and some are somewhere in the middle.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin's Company
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. In Which Bilbo Is Ignored

**Author's Note:**

> In the book, it took Bilbo and Company about 50 days to get from Bywater in the Shire to Rivendell. I doubt this story will encompass all that time, but I will definitely be leaning more towards the longer timeline in the book than the one the movie portrayed, which, to me, felt more like a couple of weeks.

Bilbo did not like Bree. He had never been there before, but it didn’t take him long to dislike it once he arrived. The buildings were tall, looming over the road if not leaning precariously into their neighbours. The people were tall, long-limbed Men who stared down their noses at them even as they road by on their ponies. And there wasn’t a bit of nice greenery anywhere. Oh, some of the monstrous houses had window boxes, but the poor flowers or herbs were wilted and sad. The trees were scraggly, despite it being April, and what grass existed had been clipped down to stubs by cows, horses and goats that were too large to be proper.

They would be staying for two days.

Gandalf led them without hesitation to an inn called The Prancing Pony, and Bilbo decided that it was the only respectable-looking place in the whole town. Its owner was a jovial fellow named Butterbur, whose wife stood fast at the bar, and whose three children dashed trays of food to and from the kitchens. A maid showed the Company to their rooms and Bilbo was impressed with the hobbit-style of it, despite the fact that he had to share. 

He couldn’t remember this particular dwarf’s name (to be honest, he couldn’t remember any of their names, except for Thorin and Balin (whose signatures were on the contract he’d signed)) and he found he couldn’t muster up the courage to admit his own failing. All he knew was that this fellow was the one who had given him a ‘handkerchief’, which really was a strip torn off his tunic’s hem.

But at least there were two beds and the linens were clean and the quilts over them looked comfortable and warm.

Bilbo waited until his companion had shucked off his pack and heavy jacket by one of the beds, and then claimed the other. 

“Ah,” the dwarf sighed as he stretched. “A bed will be nice for a couple of nights, and then it will be nothing but the hard ground for who knows how long.”

“Hm,” Bilbo hummed in mild agreement. He riffled through his pack. While he was here, he might just grab a couple of things (like a handkerchief or three) from the market. He’d seen one on their way in.

Maybe Bree wasn’t a complete dismal mark on the map?

The dwarf followed him out to the common room, where Bilbo enquired of Butterbur of places to shop. The market was one, of course, but the innkeeper mentioned a few other spots that might have what Bilbo wanted and gave him detailled directions.

The dwarf followed him out the front door and into the street and for about a half block up until Bilbo turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

He got one in return, along with a smile, and Bilbo sighed. 

“I don’t know how long this will be and it will undoubtedly be boring.”

“Aye, likely,” was the cheerful reply, “but I’ve got my orders to keep an eye on you, so an eye on you I will keep.”

“I’m a grown hobbit,” Bilbo protested.

“So I see. Nevertheless, none of us are to wander alone.” He gave a slight emphasis on ‘none’ and Bilbo paused at that.

“Are you dwarf folk always this wary of strangers?” he asked.

“These are wary times.” He hefted his pickaxe off his shoulder and planted its haft in the mud. Bilbo didn’t think this helped his image much, using his weapon as a walkingstick, but he said nothing of it, or anything else, and continued on.

By the time they returned to the inn, Bilbo’s arms were sore from carrying his purchases. The dwarf had been helpful in encouraging him to pick up a few things more than handkerchiefs, so he now had a thick, oiled cloak and hood to keep off any rain, along with a small dagger that had barely passed the dwarf’s inspection, and an array of sacks that were stuffed into each other and would be perfect for foraging.

The dwarf munched an apple and oh, so helpfully held the door for Bilbo as he sidled inside.

Bilbo went straight to his shared room, dumped his parcels onto his bed, gave his feet a quick wash and comb, and then went to supper. 

Supper was...lonely. The dwarves had usurped two of the largest tables and had pushed them together. All were deep in their food and drink, laughing merrily. Bilbo sat at one of the corner tables, still close by but in no ways included. He had no idea where Gandalf had gone off to, but the wizard was nowhere in sight.

The inn was busy and Bilbo watched Missus Butterbur roll out full and frothing tankards, and the little ones and maids darted to and fro with trays and payment, and it was so very much like the Green Dragon back home and yet it wasn’t, and if Bilbo felt a little homesick, no one took any notice.

That night, curled under his quilt in his bed in the room he shared with the dwarf whose name he could not remember, Bilbo wondered to himself if running out his door was something he should have done at all.

But then the dwarf hummed a few lines of that song the dwarves had sung in his sitting room what felt like ages ago, but had really been only two days past, and Bilbo smiled.

“That’s a pretty tune you carry, Master Dwarf,” he said into the darkness before he could stop his misbehaving tongue.

The dwarf chuckled. “Why thank you, Master Baggins. Learned how to sing from my mam. Near beat the tune into me, she did.”

“My mother couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Bilbo found himself saying. “But she liked it when my father sang to her. He composed a dozen songs from the notes she took on her adventures.”

“Your father taught you?”

“He did.”

A pause. Then: “Didn’t see any other hobbits in your cozy hole besides yourself...”

“Oh. I live alone. They...they died.”

“Sorry, laddie. It is a terrible thing, losing loved ones.”

The conversation lulled. Bilbo heard the sorrow, the grief that matched his own, and it occurred to him that everyone of their little Company had lost someone. Dragons didn’t just break into mountains with a pleasant 'by your leave'. The sacking of Erebor would have killed hundreds, thousands? How many had lived there?

“Well,” the dwarf said with a cheer Bilbo could never hope to have, “maybe we’ll hear you sing sometime?”

“Maybe, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo replied.

“Ack, no need to be so formal! Me and my kin are toymakers and miners, hardly in need of formalities. Just call me Bofur, lad.”

Bilbo leaned up onto one elbow and looked across the dark room at his companion. Moonlight fell through the window and glinted in Bofur’s open eyes as he returned the look.

“I’m glad to meet you, Bofur,” Bilbo said. “Call me Bilbo.”

He could see Bofur’s wide grin as he said, “Aye. I’ll do that.” 

-

Bofur made the days on the road easier, once they got back onto the road. Bilbo was unused to riding ponies and unused to sleeping on the ground in nothing but a bedroll and blanket and unused to having only three meals a day (three, for Yavanna’s sake! That wasn’t enough to feed anyone!). But Bofur had taken it upon himself to honour his order to keep an eye on him. They rode side by side and Bofur taught him all kinds of dwarvish ditties and stories and jokes. He always had food in his pockets and offered it to him whenever Bilbo’s stomach growled. (“When Bombur’s your brother, you learn to have food on you at all times,” he’d said the first time he’d heard Bilbo’s stomach. Then he’d thrown an apple at his head.)

Bilbo noticed the other dwarves casting them odd looks, but he ignored them in favour of, dare he say it, his budding friendship with Bofur. Bofur’s cheer was contagious and encouraged the inquisitive Ori to drop back and ride beside them, asking a few tentative questions about hobbits. The two pointed out the other dwarves and agreed that names were very difficult, but at least the family members rhymed, so that was a helpful trick Bilbo was grateful for.

But Bofur and Ori were where the friendliness ended. Being ignored wasn’t exactly new to Bilbo, odd Baggins that he was, but it still hurt. Thorin was openly antagonistic, glaring at Bofur and Ori as they rode along or chatted at meals, and most of the others took their cue from him. The only saving grace about Thorin’s glaring was that it earned him glares in return from Bofur’s and Ori’s kin. This was humourous because Bifur was terrifying and Bombur was in charge of their meals, so no one should ever make him angry; and no one messed with Dori and Nori’s baby brother because, according to Ori, Dori could toss a dwarf like they’d all tossed Bilbo’s dishes: with ease and without hesitation. Bilbo was unsure what wily-looking Nori would do if angered, but he played with knives often enough that he didn’t have to guess too hard.

Bilbo took in this information silently and did his best to avoid all possible confrontation with anybody and everybody.

He managed quite well on that front, until they entered the small dell six days’ travel from Bree.“We really shouldn’t camp here,” Bilbo said for the fifth time. He stood with Myrtle, his pony, one hand on her bridle, and watched the dwarves march past him. “There are stories around the Shire that tell of the old dells in these parts. Ancient magic and other such things. We really should move on.”

“It’s nearly dark, lad,” Bofur said with infinite patience as he unsaddled Crocus. “There’s no telling what we’d come across at night.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to plea for even just one more mile, but then Thorin stomped past and snarled, “We’re staying here and that’s final.”

Bilbo hastily moved out of his way, clutching Myrtle’s reins tighter, his eyes wide. As soon as Thorin was gone, he glanced around at the small clearing. Hidden by copses of trees and rocky overhangs from the low cliffs on the north side, it was sheltered and dry, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Gandalf wasn’t here to impart his wisdom–or perhaps back Bilbo up in his earnest desire to move on–so Bilbo had to do as he had done for the last week and a half: make do.

Make do with being ignored. Make do with being teased and not taken seriously. Make do with being thrown onto a pony (that turned out to be not so bad, after all, but he would only tell Myrtle that) and dragged halfway across Middle-earth. Make do with the rough, minimalist-style of travelling and waking up every morning at the pre-crack of dawn. This wasn’t a walking holiday–he knew it wasn’t–but he wasn’t used to it yet. His body was soft, his endurance for riding and getting up early non-existent. He was part of the Company, but not really because even after ten days of travelling, he was still...everything they didn’t want or need. He was no warrior or thief, nor was he overly wise or smart in the ways of the world. (He was smart in all the ways hobbits counted as important, thank you very much, but he recognised that he had a lot to learn about what lay past Bree. That being said, he did know that these particular dells were tricky, magical things that should not be taken lightly.)

So while the dwarves settled ponies and got camp set up, Bilbo eyed the trees. The trees were safe, he knew. They were guardians and anchors against and for magic alike. Whatever spells might be present wouldn’t get past the trees and likewise wouldn’t reach them. The dwarves would sleep on the ground. As for Bilbo, he would sleep in a tree and tie himself to the branch for good measure.

Supper was tense. Bilbo’s nerves were on edge and the wind blew strangely through the trees, setting him to startle every other minute.

“Calm down, Bilbo,” Bofur said with a smile. “You’re making us all nervous with your twitching.”

Bilbo tried to sit still after that, but he didn’t think he succeeded, going by the growls and grumbles from the others.

Before Bilbo climbed his tree for the night, he pulled Bofur and Ori aside. “Sleep in the trees,” he begged them. “Something’s not right.”

“Bilbo, you’re a good fellow, but I think you’re blowing this a bit out of proportion,” Bofur said kindly.

“I’ve never come across any histories about these parts,” Ori put in hesitantly. “Are you sure...?”

“I wouldn’t be warning you if I wasn’t!” Bilbo hissed, finally losing his temper. “And you wouldn’t find any written histories. It’s all stories told to us as faunts. All kinds of folk go missing around here.”

Bofur sighed. “Could be bandits or trolls or an eloping or any other number of things.” He paused, his frown softening into concern, then said, “Bilbo, lad, why don’t you come sleep by me tonight? If you’re worried, we’ll keep you safe.”

“Nothing but Gandalf or the trees will keep us safe!”

“Well, Gandalf is not here and I’m not going to sleep in a tree.”

“Please,” Bilbo tried one last time. 

But both Bofur and Ori shook their heads, and Ori scampered away when Dori called for him.

“Goodnight, Bilbo,” Bofur said and he walked off for his kin and bedroll.

Bilbo turned away sharply and started climbing. He found a thick branch a good ten feet off the ground and used the rope in his pack to tie himself to it. Then he pulled out his blanket and propped himself up against the trunk.

As he fell asleep, the dwarves clustering in their bedrolls around the burning fire, the eerie wind whispered with a voice like rustling leaves. Despite his fear (for himself, for the Company), the wind lulled him and for the first time since he’d left Bree, he slept deeply and soundly.

The following morning dawned bright and clear, not that Bilbo noticed because he slept through it. After being woken at not-even first light for the last six days straight, he was exhausted, and he slept on, safe and secure in his tree until...

“Caw, caw, caw!”

Bilbo jerked awake to the harsh call beside his head. A large raven hopped back and forth on his branch, wings wide for balance and talons scraping at the bark.

“Caw!”

Still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, Bilbo heard first, rather than saw, more animals below. Growls, grunts, shrieks and chitters. Were they under attack? Was the forest itself attacking them? He leaned over and looked down and his eyes bugged wide at the sight. The camp was a mess: the fire was out and its ashes were scattered, blankets had been dragged, and packs’ contents thrown about like a faunt’s toys. “Yavanna have mercy,” he rasped when he spotted a bear–a large black bear!–nosing through Dwalin’s bags.

“Caw! Caw!”

Bilbo snapped his head up to stare at the raven who stared back at him. 

It flapped at him. “Caw!”

“I don’t speak raven,” he told it firmly. “Now, shoo. Shoo!” 

Where were the dwarves? Where was Gandalf? Why hadn’t anyone woken him? It looked a couple hours after sunrise and Thorin was never this late getting their Company moving.

 _Wait a minute,_ Bilbo thought, squinting.

Black bear, sheep, badger, stoat, raccoon, red squirrel, barn owl– _Raven,_ he added when it cawed in his ear. He continued on, counting, and his wide eyes went wider still.

There were thirteen animals here. Thirteen. And no dwarves to be seen.

-:-

Thank you for reading! :)


	2. In Which Bilbo Does Not Say, “I Told You So”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have no idea how long this fic is going to be. I’m currently writing Chapter 4, so it’s very likely there will be at least a couple more chapters after that, but I honestly don’t know. Still, thank you for the comments and kudos thus far. I’ve never done such a niche AU before, so thank you for your kind reception.
> 
> This chapter is a whopper at around 8,000 words, but I couldn’t find a decent enough place to end it, so you guys get a monster chapter. Enjoy!

Slowly, Bilbo turned his head back towards the raven, who was desperately trying to get a decent grip on the branch. As if he was unused to talons and no hands.

“Steady,” Bilbo soothed, reaching out. “Steady. You’re going to fall if you keep bouncing like that, and I don’t know how you got up here, but I’m betting you can’t fly all too well.”

“Caw.” Far from the shrieking cries from earlier, this one sounded like sad agreement. Bilbo ran through his brain the names and faces of his companions and came up blank. He’d only known them for barely two weeks after all. That was hardly enough time to get to know someone well enough to recognise them when their shape was suddenly very different.

Sternly forbidding himself from panicking, as well as shouting for Bofur and Ori to make sure they were all right ( _You counted thirteen,_ he reminded himself), Bilbo wrapped his jacket around the raven, calming it down. Using only one hand, he untied himself, stowed his rope and blanket in his pack, and slithered out of the tree. Once on flat ground, he released the raven, who hopped awkwardly away.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Ahem. Uh, good morning?”

Silence fell as everyone turned to look at him. That was when he realised that one of the thirteen animals was a wolf. Wolf hadn’t registered in his brain, so much as animal and not-dwarf-shaped. But it was registering now as the great beast rose to its paws and stalked toward him on rather wobbly legs.

It was as tall as he was and its fur was a rich black, its muzzle shot through with white. Bilbo couldn’t move, memories of cold white and hot red spearing his heart. Inexplicably, the wolf jolted to a halt, its nostrils flaring, and it growled low, showing a bit of tooth. It was because it was only a few feet away that Bilbo saw its eyes. He’d never heard of a wolf with blue eyes before...

Wait.

“Thorin?” He exhaled the name and was not comforted because instead of Thorin being able to gut him with his sword, he could now gut him with his teeth.

But Thorin didn’t seem interested in gutting him at all at the present moment. His ears pricked when Bilbo said his name and he stopped growling, awkwardly bobbing his head. 

Forcing the white and red memories out of his mind, Bilbo tried to focus. “Is, is everyone here?” he asked.

Another head-bob.

“All right. All right. Well...” In that brief second, he realised he would never, ever tell the dwarves “I told you so”. Because they knew now. They had paid dearly for their ignorance and dismissal, and he would never, ever rub that in. Not because at least three of the present Company could maul him, but because the raven had been so clearly panicked and Bofur and Ori were somewhere in this mess. He straightened his spine and said instead, “We should tidy up the camp at least. Have you eaten? I could get something started?”

This was met with deafening silence and the animals– _dwarves,_ he corrected–exchanged glances. 

Bilbo shuffled nervously. “I don’t know how long this will last, but it won’t be just a few hours.” He took a deep breath and looked at Thorin (or rather at a point just to the left of Thorin’s front paws). “You need help. I can help.”

Thorin snarled, but broke off at angry chittering. The raccoon and the stoat toddled forward, teeth bared and backs arched in fury. Bilbo stayed absolutely still as what was obviously some kind of conversation unfolded. The raccoon and stoat took it in turns to voice their opinions and it did not escape Bilbo’s notice when several of the other ani– _dwarves!_ –looked abashed at whatever it was they were saying. 

It didn’t last long and when they were finished, both smaller dwarves bowed their heads to Bilbo. Thorin grumbled and turned away in a huff.

“Er, does this mean I can get breakfast started?” he asked.

The answer this time was cacophonous agreement. So while Bilbo built up the fire and fetched water and dug through what he hoped were Bombur’s packs for the morning porridge, the animals– _dwarves,_ he corrected–gathered up what they could and set it all into relatively neat, individual piles. Bilbo recognised a few items, like Kili’s bow and quiver, which were being manhandled by the raven, and Bofur’s absurd hat, which the raccoon was dragging over. Actually, now that he was looking and paying attention, he recognised several items and their owners: Dwalin’s warhammer, Oin’s ear trumpet and Ori’s journal. Black bear, porcupine, stoat.

The raccoon and the stoat. Bofur and Ori. They had yelled at Thorin to get him to accept Bilbo’s help. Tears sprang to his eyes and he hurriedly wiped them away before anyone could see.

A not-too-distant whinny interrupted his thoughts and he remembered the ponies. Sixteen ponies. “Someone should check on the ponies,” he said, mostly to himself, though several of the animals– _dwarves, for Yavanna’s sake!_ –glanced at him. 

Thorin huffed and the red fox and the large, white ram trotted away.

Bilbo returned to the pot of porridge and added ‘Feed and water sixteen ponies’ to the list of things he had to do. He hoped Gandalf returned soon, if Gandalf was even gone. He had only counted thirteen animals, so it was likely the wizard had not returned from his wander ahead yesterday. Sighing to himself, he began to dish out the porridge to those who had brought him a bowl. He duly noted that Thorin the wolf, Ori the stoat, the badger, the wolverine, the eagle and Oin the porcupine stayed away. He knew porcupines weren’t carnivores, but the rest? Maybe he could set a couple of snares for rabbits. Porridge probably wouldn’t be ideal for the fox or ram, either.

He was about to settle down with his own bowl of breakfast, when the golden eagle shrieked urgently from the western side of the clearing. The bear–Dwalin–roared and charged, and Bilbo upended his bowl as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the eagle...and the unmoving pile of white and gold feathers at his feet.

The barn owl. Bilbo had noticed it moving sluggishly about earlier. _Yavanna, please don’t let it be dead,_ he begged as he dodged in front of Dwalin and slid to his knees beside the birds. “Let me look at him!” he commanded, and Dwalin skidded to a halt, his claws gouging furrows in the soft earth.

As Bilbo turned back to the owl, a thought occurred to him. If Dwalin was upset, then it was quite possible, though more likely probable, that the owl was Balin. “Mister Balin?” he ventured and Dwalin rumbled behind him. He stroked a finger down the owl’s back. His eyes were closed and he lay half-sprawled, as if he had dropped where he stood. He breathed, still, slow and shallow, and gave no reply to Bilbo’s question.

A whiff of hot breath on Bilbo’s left cheek alerted him to someone else who had drawn close, and he clamped down on his terror at the sight of the wolf. Thorin. Taking a shaky breath, he continued to examine Balin, who appeared to be sleeping...and yet wouldn’t wake.

Hoping he wasn’t about to get pecked, clawed or bitten by any of the three conscious predators surrounding him, Bilbo picked up the owl and his heart rabbited in his chest when he didn’t even move. He hurried back to the fire, snatching his pack as he went. He muttered to himself as he shook out his blanket and wrapped Balin up carefully. “Could just be a side effect of the magic. But then why isn’t anyone else like this? Wild magic is tricky and unpredictable, so maybe it was random. Could just be because he’s old. He’s the oldest here, isn’t he?”

A rattling chirr interrupted him and he glanced down at the porcupine that stood on its hind legs. It chirred again. Wait, wasn’t this Oin? The ear trumpet fellow. Right. Also the Company’s healer.

“I think he’s fine,” Bilbo said as he allowed Oin to sniff Balin over. “He’s just tired. Wild magic is unpredictable, so maybe that’s all this is...” He trailed off as Oin made no motion of acknowledging him. He was acutely aware of both Dwalin and Thorin nearby and he tried not to watch them.

Oin concluded his examination and squeaked, nodded at Bilbo, and plodded off. Taking that as permission to continue doing what he had been doing, Bilbo rewrapped Balin and settled him in his lap. Grabbing up the kettle he had filled and put on the fire for tea, he poured out some water and let it cool for a while before trying to coax Balin into drinking. Asleep though he was, he was conscious enough that Bilbo’s gentle stroking of his throat helped ease the water down.

When half the cup was empty, Bilbo laid him down and stood. He tried not to flinch as Dwalin lumbered closer and curled up around his brother, nudging him to rest more comfortably between his massive paws. Lying down, Dwalin came up to Bilbo’s chest.

Ignoring that thought, he moved to pick up the empty bowls (and his overturned one), but froze when Dwalin grumbled. He wasn’t looking at him, but his eyes flicked to him and back as he grumbled a bit more before falling silent.

Bilbo smiled. A grateful dwarf. He never thought he’d see the day. “You’re welcome, Mister Dwalin. Come get me if anything changes.”

Dwalin huffed and closed his eyes, and Bilbo ducked his head to hide his widening smile. Gathering up the rest of the dishes and the empty pot, he struck out for the river. Bofur the raccoon, Ori the stoat, and Kili the raven accompanied him, Kili riding on Bilbo’s shoulder after much cawing and flapping. 

As Bilbo rinsed out the bowls at the river’s edge, he looked down at Bofur and Ori, who regarded their reflections in the water. Kili cawed at him when his hands stilled and all three looked at him, concern in their dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, Bofur, Ori,” he said softly. “I am so terribly sorry.”

Bofur churred and, after a moment’s hesitation, patted his arm with a paw, while Ori squeaked.

Bilbo sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I don’t know what you said to Thorin, but thank you anyway. It was very brave. He could’ve eaten you.”

Kili choked on a laugh while Ori hid his nose under his paws to stifle his own noise. Bofur had no such regard. He chittered and grinned up at him. This pointy-toothed smile was very different from his usual dwarvish one, but Bilbo couldn’t help but smile back and continued working.

The dishes were soon done and there was still no sign of Gandalf. “Guess I’d better check on the ponies,” he mumbled to himself once things were stowed away. He should also feed and water them. It was getting on towards mid-morning now. They should have been on the road hours ago. 

He found the sixteen irritable ponies and the fox and ram. The fox was gnawing on something bloody while the ram awkwardly grazed beside Daisy. Ori darted over to them, chirping and squeaking, and tried to steal a bit of whatever the fox had killed. Bilbo watched in stunned amazement as the fox surrendered the remains of his meal, only to get baaed at by the ram. If foxes could glare, this one would have as he fixed the ram with a stare, but then reluctantly began cleaning his muzzle in the dewy grass.

Bilbo’s mind whirled. The fox giving up his meal to Ori. The ram making sure the fox was clean after his bleeding food. Bilbo regarded the little trio for a moment and suddenly thought of wily Nori (whom Dwalin had once called ‘that damn thief’) and Dori’s intricate braids, which were reminiscent in the curled horns on the ram’s head.

Myrtle whinnied at him, breaking into his thoughts, and Bilbo took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Recalled to his task, he had to wonder. How was he supposed to take care of sixteen ponies all by himself?

 _No point in wasting time wallowing about it,_ he told himself and he unpicketed Myrtle and Minty and led them to the stream for a drink.

He went that way, taking two ponies at a time, until all had their fill. The bags that held the feed he couldn’t lift, so he opened a couple and did that in pairs as well, leading the ponies over and waiting for them to finish, or until he managed to tug them away. He also brushed out the worst of the tangles in manes and tails, and checked their hooves for stones and dirt and loose shoes. He wasn't too familiar with ponies, but he knew the basics (though what he would do if someone threw a shoe, he didn't know). He prayed that nothing would go wrong, at least on the pony front. Bofur kept to Bilbo’s heels, staying out of the way of pony hooves and hobbit feet. Bilbo talked both to him and the Company's mounts, about the Shire and his garden and his neighbours and Lobelia, who tried to steal his silver spoons all the time. Neither the ponies nor Bofur offered much by way of conversation, but Bofur churred and grumbled in all the appropriate places. By the time Bilbo finished tending to them, it was noon and his belly rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Kili had abandonned his shoulder a while ago and had managed to fly a short distance, working his way from branch to branch or branch to ground where the ponies were picketed. Ori, presumably Dori and presumably Nori were finished eating, and stoat and fox lazed in the sun while the ram stood solemnly and alertly. 

“Any sign of Gandalf?” Bilbo asked, and Kili cawed and shook his head, flying down from his branch to land haphazardly on Bilbo’s shoulder once more. He steadied him carefully, wincing as sharp talons pinched through his waistcoat and shirt to his skin. “Careful, Master Kili,” he said. “Don’t clench too hard. I won’t let you fall.”

Kili turned his head to eye him with a beady eye and promptly started shrieking, flapping hard and bouncing. He sounded happy, and Bilbo made a hasty guess as to why.

“Of course I know it’s you. I saw you dragging your bow earlier. Ouch, stop it! Master Kili, really, you’re acting like a faunt.”

Kili stilled, folded his wings and looked properly abashed. Bilbo laughed and patted his head with a finger. “There now. No need to get all worked up. I’m just glad you can all understand me. That’s a relief.”

Kili cawed quietly and nodded.

Bilbo hummed to himself as he absently braided Myrtle’s mane. “It can’t be all that fun being in a strange shape.”

He flipped his wings in what Bilbo guessed to be a shrug of sorts. Bofur churred while presumably Dori grunted. Ori and presumably Nori made no comment. 

“Well, at least no one is hurt. It might be strange and frightening, but wild magic isn’t harmful, or so I’ve heard. Gandalf will know more about it. Hopefully.”

“Caw,” Kili said sadly, while Bofur chittered from down at Bilbo’s feet.

“Cheer up, Master Kili. I’ve never seen you so glum. Here, now. Why don’t you help me with something? We can make a bit of a game of it.”

“Caw?”

“I’m fairly certain of a few of the Company in their new shapes, but I could use your help to make absolutely sure. Let’s see now. How about one caw for yes and two caws for no?”

Kili flapped his wings eagerly. “Caw!”

Bilbo laughed. “Well, I already know about you and Bofur, Ori and Thorin, so...Dwalin is the bear”

“Caw!” was the enthusiastic reply, and Bofur showed his teeth in a happy grin.

“Balin is the owl.”

The answer was a sobering “Caw”, and Bilbo patted his head.

“He’ll be all right,” he assured him. “We just have to keep an eye on him. Let’s see. Who else? Oin’s the porcupine.”

“Caw!” 

Then Bilbo couldn’t help his smug grin as he pointed to the fox and said, “Nori.”

Nori’s head snapped up and he stared as Kili voiced triumphant confirmation.

“Which makes the ram Dori,” Bilbo continued.

“Caw!” 

Now it was Dori’s turn to stare and Ori squeaked happily, prancing about Dori’s feet.

“I’m pretty good at this, aren’t I?”

“Caw!” Kili agreed and Bilbo laughed again. 

“I think that’s all who I have so far. I’ll figure the rest out later.”

At just that moment, his stomach rumbled louder and Kili cocked his head. “Caw?”

“Hungry,” Bilbo explained. “I never did get breakfast, but I thought I spotted some mushrooms on the bank. I don’t feel like washing more dishes. Here.” He offered his hand to Kili, who stepped on carefully. “Stretch your wings, if you’d like. You could always try to fly some more?”

Rapid head-shaking. “Caw, caw.”

“Flying is harder than it looks, eh?”

“Caw.”

Bilbo replaced him to his shoulder, saying, “Well, practice makes better. You were doing fine earlier. Don’t think I didn’t notice. We hobbits notice plenty. Will you be all right?” he added to the Ri brothers.

Nori, who hadn’t moved from his spot in the sun, flicked an ear while Dori baaed and tossed his head, and Bilbo took that for assent and headed back for the river, Ori scampering alongside him in leaps and bounds that were slowly becoming more fluid instead of the awkward bumbling from earlier.

The forest on either side of the small river was filled with noise: birds in the trees, rustles in the undergrowth that spoke of mice, voles and rabbits, and several squirrels chattered from farther up ahead. Bilbo found the mushroom patch (a lovely array of morels) and meandered carefully through them, filling his belly. Kili poked at a couple with his beak but didn't take a bite, and Bofur waded into the river's shallows and caught a few minnows, ignoring the mushrooms completely. Ori darted into the thick of some nearby brambles and, after a loud squeak, returned with a mouse hanging from his jaws, which he gobbled down.

"For being in such new shapes, you're remarkable hunters," Bilbo said between mouthfuls.

After eating his fill, Bilbo pulled out one of the small carry sacks he’d purchased in Bree from his pocket and loaded it up with all the mushrooms that would fit. It’d be a nice snack for the road, if they ever got back onto it.

He returned to the ponies, Kili once again on his shoulder and Ori wrapped around his neck like an absurd scarf, and was satisfied to see they were all doing well. “Do you want to spell off?” he asked Dori and Nori. “You’ve been here for the better part of the morning.”

Dori shook his head, but Nori yipped and followed Bilbo back to camp, having switched with Bofur.

Arriving at camp, Bilbo instinctively counted who he could see: Thorin, Oin (who was up in a tree and munching on twigs), Balin and Dwalin (still by the fire), the eagle (who was also up in a tree, but was clearly acting as lookout), the badger, the wolverine, and the squirrel (who was scrounging around at the base of Oin’s tree). Nori, Ori and Kili beside him, and Dori and Bofur back with the ponies. Thirteen all accounted for.

And still no Gandalf.

Bilbo’s sinking heart sank further. He couldn’t take care of sixteen ponies all by himself and he couldn’t take care of thirteen animals by himself, either. Although, to their credit, some could see to their needs themselves, if Dori’s grazing and Nori and Ori’s bloody breakfast were any indication. Balin would need regular attention at the very least, and for that he needed to get past Dwalin, who was still cradling the snoozing owl between his large, clawed paws. 

Bilbo meandered farther into camp, checking packs and weapons aimlessly as he kept an eye on the bear, and he thought. Dwalin had not been averse to him taking care of his brother, despite his general grumpy attitude. They were all adults, after all, and pettiness was beneath them when lives were on the line.

And Bilbo was fairly certain that Balin’s life, while not in danger, lay squarely in his hands. He was also fairly certain that Dwalin knew that.

He had circled the camp twice before he took hold of his courage and approached. “Mister Dwalin,” he greeted softly from several feet away, “how is he?”

Dwalin grumbled and looked down at the unmoving feathery pile between his paws. He grumbled some more.

“Still no change?” He stepped a bit closer. 

Dwalin’s ears twitched, but other than that, he made no move to do much of anything. 

Bilbo swallowed. “He should probably drink some more. It’s a warm day for April.”

Dwalin stared at him. 

He tried a smile. “You’re probably hungry, too. A single bowl of porridge doubtfully filled your belly. Here.” He held out the sack of mushrooms. “There’s a big patch of morel mushrooms over by the river. I can get more.”

Dwalin stared some more, then very slowly lumbered to his paws. He sniffed the sack and turned away, heading for the river with a grunt.

Exhaling gustily and shaking out his trembling hands, Bilbo sat down and took Balin into his lap. Ori was content to stay where he was, and so Bilbo offered a hand to Kili, who hopped off his shoulder, and set him down. Kili hopped away at Thorin’s chuff, heading for his uncle to no doubt give some report of the morning’s goings-on. For himself, Nori curled up into a tight ball by Bilbo’s left knee and, to all appearances, fell asleep.

As Bilbo helped Balin, who was still sound asleep, drink, something sidled up beside him and started nosing at the carry sack left by his right thigh. Turning his head, he found the badger.

“Hullo,” he said, startling whichever poor dwarf this was, who in turn crouched low to the ground and looked fearfully up at him. Across the clearing, Thorin stiffened and lifted his lips in a silent snarl, but Bilbo forcefully ignored this and, using his free hand, curled open the sack’s edges for better access. “There you go,” he said. “The patch has plenty, so I can restock if I need to. You eat that if you want. I don’t really know what badgers eat, so just don’t make yourself sick.”

He returned his attention to Balin and kept a side eye on the badger as he tentatively reached for the morels. When Bilbo didn’t do anything, the badger helped himself. Bilbo smiled, wrapped Balin back up in his blanket and settled him more comfortably in his lap, gently petting his head and back and humming a walking song to himself.

The badger had finished eating and was working on cleaning his muzzle of the last bits, when Bilbo noticed some odd scaring on his head. Leaning over, he stretched out a hand but didn’t touch the discoloured fur and puckered skin.

 _Wild magic is a strange thing,_ he thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Bifur,” and Kili cawed once from where he and Thorin were still conversing.

Bifur looked up at him and Bilbo smiled. 

Without warning, a sheep bleated from the ponies’ direction, snapping every dwarf’s head up. Bilbo scrambled to his feet with a care for Balin and ignoring Ori’s clenched claws.

“Watch him and stay here,” he commanded the dwarves in sight, and he took off in a sprint. He didn’t know what possessed him to scoop up a large (for him) stick as he went, but his dagger from Bree was in his pack and there was no time to get it. 

A flash of red beside him almost made him trip. Nori. Nori ran beside him, ears pinned back and teeth exposed like he was about to enter a battle.

Just then, he heard voices up ahead, raised in anger and frustration. And one in pain.

“Just kill the thing. We can have mutton tonight. Serves it right for slamming into me,” said the pained one.

“Serves you right for antagonising it,” said another. “Just untie the ponies and let’s get out of here.”

 _Thieves,_ Bilbo thought darkly and with no small amount of fear. _Men, most likely._

“Excuse me,” he announced as he slid to a halt beside Myrtle.“These are my ponies and you’re not allowed to take them. Also, no one is killing my sheep.”

Three Men, tall and rough with unkempt faces and raggedy clothes. He saw two swords, two bows with full quivers, and a stave, not to mention the daggers hanging from belts and poking out of boots. Bilbo swallowed and clenched his stick more tightly. Nori had no such fear, pulling ahead to plant himself beside Dori, hackles up.

Bilbo’s appearance had taken them by surprise, but not as much as the dwarves had. Bofur bared his teeth from his position in front of Minty and Bungo, while Dori lowered his horned head in clear threat. With Nori’s addition, the Men blinked with growing confusion.

One of the Men recovered more quickly than the others. “All these ponies are yours, halfling? What are you doing with them?”

“That is my business, which is none of yours,” Bilbo replied, sounding stronger than he felt. “Be on your way, please.”

“One little halfling can’t possibly look after all these ponies by himself,” sneered the second. “How about we help you out?”

Bilbo forced himself to be polite as he said over Nori’s growl,“I thank you for the offer, but I suggest you move on. There’s strange happenings in these parts. No telling what might happen if you linger in these tricky dells.”

“And you consider yourself safe from these strange happenings and tricky dells?”

“Safe enough.”

The Men grinned wide, sending shivers down Bilbo’s spine. “And what if we choose not to move on?” said the first. “It’s beautiful country here, tricky or not. I could stand to stay a while.”

The others snorted in laughter.

“Caw, caw, caw!” Kili came winging down to land on Bilbo’s shoulder. His dramatic entrance was ruined when he slipped and would have fallen if Bilbo hadn’t caught and steadied him with a hand. Ori, still hanging around his neck, chittered angrily first at Kili and then at the Men.

That drew the Men up short. They stared at the ram, raccoon, fox, stoat and raven and then at Bilbo. “You sure you’re a halfling?” the second asked.

“I never said what I was. Now be off with you.” Bilbo swung his stick in a hopefully menacing manner, and he was never more grateful when Dori charged a couple steps and Bofur and Nori snarled.

Then, from behind, came a louder and more menacing snarl. Bilbo held onto the dwarves’ lack of reaction and didn’t turn around, but all three Men paled and scarpered, scrambling over each other in their haste to flee. 

Bilbo sighed shakily and petted Kili’s head with a finger as Bofur, Dori and Nori trotted over. “Well done, everyone,” he said. “I was getting a little worried that I wasn’t frightening enough to scare them off.”

Dori snorted, clearly thinking Bilbo wasn’t frightening at all. Bilbo smiled, braced himself, and turned around to find himself nose-to-snout with Thorin.

“Eep!” he squeaked, stumbling onto his behind and setting Kili flying with a squawk. Ori fell off his perch and darted away to Dori’s feet. “Oh, hello, Thorin.”

Thorin lifted his lips and advanced, his ears flat. Bilbo retreated, crawling backwards. This wasn’t the Fell Winter, this wasn’t the Fell Winter. But it was hard not to think of the bone-chilling white and the feral howling and the hot blood from his parents in the snow. So much red on so much white.

With his heart racing, he tried to work his tongue into words that wouldn’t give away his utter terror. “Now, I understand that you’re under a lot of stress right now, but that doesn’t mean that you can get angry with me when I was just trying to help–”

Where was his stick? Had he dropped it? His suddenly numb hands couldn’t find it.

Thorin snarled and Bilbo flung an arm up in front of his face. This was it. This was his death. Just like his parents. He didn’t hear Dori begin to charge, though he did hear a familiar voice.

“Now, what is this?”

Bilbo turned his head so fast that he cricked his neck, and Dori stumbled to a halt. All heads turned for the newcomer’s direction. “Gandalf!” he cried. “Where have you been?”

“Wizard business,” was the vague reply as Gandalf dismounted from his horse. “I was concerned when I didn’t find you already on the move. My dear Bilbo, whatever happened to our dwarves?” He cast the animals around them a quizzical and half-amused glance.

“I told them not to,” Bilbo said in earnest with one eye still on Thorin, who had not backed away. “I told them the dells here are tricky and magical, but they didn’t listen. I slept in a tree, Gandalf. A tree! So I wouldn’t get magicked. I woke up to find thirteen animals when there should have been thirteen dwarves, and Balin’s not at all well, and I haven’t figured out who everyone is, and I can’t take care of sixteen ponies by myself, and Thorin’s mad at me because he’s Thorin and apparently this is all my fault, and he’s a wolf, Gandalf, a wolf!”

Thorin snarled and Bilbo flinched. “Oh, Gandalf, please make him go away!” he cried.

To everyone’s surprise, it was not Gandalf who shooed Thorin the wolf away, but the ram. Dori charged straight at Thorin and would have struck him squarely in the side if Thorin hadn’t leaped away. Thorin snarled and snapped, but Dori wouldn’t back down and lowered his horned head again. He pawed the dirt in preparation.

Then Dwalin was there, a growling mass of fur, muscle and claws, shoving Thorin hard and nearly sending him rolling. The ponies, already on edge with the wolf nearby, went ballistic at the sight of the bear. They whinnied sharply and reared, and Bilbo surged to his feet to calm them. He grabbed the nearest halter and he absently noted the brown coat and black mane. 

_Begonia,_ his brain supplied. Thorin’s mount. “Steady, steady,” he begged. “Easy, girl.” He tried to keep her head, but she reared high, nearly yanking his shoulders from their sockets and fully yanking his feet off the ground.

Kili cried out in alarm just as Gandalf reached them and, with a more masterful hand, gentled Begonia back to all fours. His staff was in his other hand, its head pointed at the ground, and slowly, one by one, the ponies calmed without Gandalf or Bilbo moving towards them. They stayed beside Begonia, and Bilbo found his hands cramped and aching from clutching her halter so hard.

“Gandalf,” he began to say shakily, but he was hushed soothingly and his fingers gently pried from around the halter strap. A long, knobby finger touched his own and the cramps and stiffness eased considerably. Bilbo’s next breath stuttered in his lungs, his whole body trembling.

“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said, crouching to look him in the eye and taking his shoulders. Bilbo dropped his head in shame and embarrassment and Gandalf sighed quietly. “It is the wolf, isn’t it?”

A quick glance around told Bilbo that neither Thorin nor Dwalin was near. But Dori, Nori, Ori, Bofur and Kili were still here, watching the scene with wide and shocked eyes.

“I know it’s Thorin,” Bilbo whispered. The words came out as a squeak.

“That doesn’t help, though, does it?” Gandalf gently asked, and Bilbo shook his head. Gandalf nodded and patted his shoulder. “Stay here with the ponies,” he said at last. “I will get the camp packed up. We shouldn’t stay here another night. We’ll move a few miles east and hopefully find a kinder place.”

Bilbo could only nod and Gandalf patted him again, straightened, took up his staff and strode away. Bilbo sat down hard and Begonia nudged at him, nickering in concern. He petted her soft nose and tried to take deep breaths as the dwarves hesitantly gathered closer.

“I’m all right,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m all right.”

Bofur chattered at him softly and shook his head. Ori climbed Bilbo’s arm and curled around his neck once more. Dori baaed while Nori sat down, facing the opposite direction: alert for threats. Kili hopped onto Bilbo’s knee and, for once, was silent. 

It was not even ten minutes later when Gandalf returned with a single pack. “Here, Bilbo. I need you to carry this.”

Taking the pack, Bilbo looked into it and very nearly dropped it. For there, nestled in his blanket, was Balin, still sleeping peacefully. His eyes went round. “Gandalf, I can’t…”

“You can and you must,” Gandalf said, firm yet kind. “Balin is in no condition to stay on a pony or fly. You mind him. It’ll be all right.”

With all the care he was capable of, Bilbo slid his arms through the straps and tightened the buckles so they would both be comfortable. Balin shifted in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Wild magic is unpredictable,” Gandalf said as he began to pull up the ponies’ stakes, “but I believe his sleeping will end tomorrow. Then again, it is wild magic.”

“Right.” Bilbo exhaled the word and moved to help Gandalf with the ponies. 

Almost two hours later, the ponies were saddled and laden with thirteen dwarves’ and one hobbit’s worth of luggage. Those that were small enough and able to hold on were sat up on a pony and Gandalf paid no heed to whose pony was whose. All the ponies were set onto a lead line, which Gandalf tied to his saddlehorn, and so it was mid-afternoon by the time they finally got moving.

Sitting astride Myrtle at the head of the line beside Gandalf, Bilbo twisted in the saddle and couldn’t help but smile at the fool picture they all made. Behind him and Myrtle were fifteen ponies, atop of which sat a porcupine (clinging to the saddlehorn with both paws), a badger, a stoat, a raccoon, and a squirrel (who had actually tucked himself into a pack). The ram, wolverine and fox ambled along placidly while the raven and golden eagle flew lopsidedly overhead, and the wolf and black bear were nowhere to be seen. The ponies, bless them, were confused by their riders (or lack thereof) but were no less happy to be moving. And the barn owl slumbered on, snuggled in the pack on Bilbo’s back.

It was a good thing they weren’t on the East-West Road because then all sorts of people would have seen their ridiculous parade and would have asked plenty of questions that neither Bilbo nor Gandalf wanted to answer.

Twisting back around, Bilbo stared at the reins in his hands for a long moment before finally saying, “I’m glad you’re back, Gandalf.”

“Oh, Bilbo. If I had known of this, I would have returned sooner,” Gandalf replied kindly. “You’ve done admirably so far, especially in regards to keeping yourself safe from the dell’s magic and in assisting Balin.”

“I just did what I could,” he pointed out. “It wasn’t much.”

“It was enough.” 

Just then, Kili swooped in and landed awkwardly on Myrtle’s saddlehorn. He was panting from exertion and Bilbo gave him some water from his flask, cupping the water in his palm for him to drink. Bilbo moved him up to his shoulder when he saw the eagle, too, was struggling to stay aloft.

Having a golden eagle land on a pony was very different from a raven, but Myrtle bore it well, and Bilbo gave him some water, too, having more care with the dangerous beak. He stared as, once finished, the eagle gave a little bow and took flight, only to land on the pony directly behind Myrtle.

Blue eyes. The eagle had blue eyes. Bilbo couldn’t remember which other dwarves had blue eyes, but then Kili turned his head and started chatting with the eagle. The swift back and forth was rather reminiscent of Fili and Kili’s banter, and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder...

“It’s a right mess, isn’t it, Gandalf?” he asked a little forlornly.

“Too right, it is, but dwarves are hardy folk,” Gandalf replied. “They’re doing very well for such different shapes than what they’re used to.”

“And you’re sure there’s nothing you can do?”

“Even a great wizard such as myself knows better than to combat such ancient magic.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he added, “Besides, I think this will prove fortuitous for many.”

“Fortuitous?” Bilbo echoed in dismay, and Kili squawked, breaking off his conversation with his presumably brother. “You’re not serious?”

“Perfectly serious. You’ve proven yourself invaluable to them.”

Bilbo had no idea what to say to that, let alone what to think of it, so he was silent and they kept on. 

Gandalf led the Company six miles east before stopping for the night. Late as they had been getting started, not to mention accommodating much shorter legs, Bilbo was glad that they had made any progress at all; at least they were out of the dell. They also had to take into account that two now had to do what fifteen had done before, so while Gandalf took care of the ponies and his horse, Bilbo set up camp and got the fire going for dinner. 

While the stew simmered, he fetched a couple of buckets of water from the stream, gently removed his pack, and tried to coax a still-unresponsive Balin to drink. He barely noticed when Oin waddled over or when Bofur rested his front paws on his left knee or when Dori took up a guard position on his right; his focus was all for Balin and the water he trickled down his throat, stroking his neck to get him to swallow.

After several agonising minutes, Bilbo wrapped Balin back up in his blanket and settled him beside the fire. Finally taking note of Oin, Bofur and Dori, he said, “Watch him for a bit?” All three nodded, and Bilbo got back to the stew in time to save it from burning and ladled it all out into bowls.

At just that moment, Gandalf returned, as did Thorin, Dwalin, Ori, and the wolverine. Thorin carried a rabbit by its ears while Dwalin bore three more, Ori had one, and the wolverine had two. The carnivores and omnivores in the group chattered in approval.

Dwalin lumbered over to the fire and Balin. Dropping his rabbits, he huffed at Bilbo, who blinked and scrambled to speak.

“He drank a good bit,” he said. “Had to coax it down him again, though. He’s still sleeping.” 

“Well done, Bilbo-lad,” Gandalf said, approaching and selecting a bowl for himself. “That stew smells wonderful. Dwalin, shall I skin those rabbits for you?”

Dwalin shook his head and instead saw to his bowl of stew, which Bilbo had already dished out for him.

Thorin, for himself, settled under a tree on the other side of their camp to eat while Nori, Ori and Kili tore pieces off Ori’s and one of Dwalin’s rabbits, and the wolverine tucked into his own kills. Presumably Fili, perched up in a tree, had a vole in his talons and was making short work of it. Oin was gnawing on some twigs in another tree as Bifur dug about its roots for grubs, and the squirrel for nuts, while Dori idly grazed a grassy patch. Bofur licked his bowl clean and nudged it forward for another serving, which Bilbo gave and then dutifully refilled Dwalin’s bowl before finally serving himself.

Bilbo sat back down beside the fire, took Balin up into his lap and ate his stew. He ate and eyed the dwarves around him in equal measure. 

It appeared Gandalf was of the same frame of mind because he said, “So, who is who?”

Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at him. He was too tired to play games, but he would for the sake of bringing a bit of lightheartedness back into the group. Far from the half-dozen chattering conversations that usually took place around the dinner fire, the Company was more or less silent. Exhausted, frustrated, grumpy, sad.

Who knew dwarves could be so dramatic? Though, to be fair, Bilbo had never been turned into anything before, so their reactions to their predicament were understandable and valid. With that in mind, he put on his best Scandalised Baggins Face.

“What?” he asked, shocked. “You mean to tell me that you, Gandalf the Wizard, don’t know who is who?”

Several heads perked up at that and Bofur’s chittering laugh echoed clear across their camp.

Gandalf frowned. “I merely asked a question.”

“And I am surprised you had to ask it at all. Why, I had more than half of this Company figured out by lunchtime.”

Gandalf blinked at him and then his frown disappeared. “Ah. I see,” he said, beaming now. “Are you proposing a game, then?”

“A game of wits. There are still three of the group I’m not sure about, and you know barely a handful. A wizard should have no trouble in guessing correctly. But in case you do have trouble, we can resort to the yes/no system Kili and I came up with.”

“Well, this should prove entertainment enough after such an eventful day,” Gandalf said with a chuckle and a stroke of his beard. “Master Kili? When you have finished supper, we require your assistance.”

Kili gulped down another chunk of rabbit and flew/hopped over to them, bouncing upon landing and cawing excitedly.

“Well, that’s one I don’t have to guess,” the wizard said smugly.

Kili froze and squawked, throwing his wings out in dismay. Several of the Company laughed and Bilbo couldn’t help his own chortle. 

Finished eating, the dwarves gathered around. Bilbo noted that they purposely mixed themselves up, brothers interspersing with the others to make the guessing harder. Sneaky dwarves.

“Well, Gandalf? You have Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Kili. Whom can you guess? One caw for ‘yes’, two caws for ‘no’.”

Gandalf, however, was unrushed. Having finished his supper, he pulled out his pipe and pipeweed, packed a bit of the herb into his pipe’s bowl and lit it with a flicker of flame from his thumb. Leaning back slightly, he puffed slowly, drawing and exhaling with leisure.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo said a bit stiffly, “they’ve had a rough day. Don’t play with their feelings.”

All heads (save Balin’s) turned towards him, shock clear in the eyes of many. Gandalf mumbled something under his breath and said, “You’re quite right, Bilbo.” Then, to the dwarves: “My apologies. Let’s begin.”

Puffing on his pipe, Gandalf eyed the dwarves in their various shapes, sizes and colours. Pointing to the fox, he said, “Nori.”

“Caw!” said Kili.

And so it went. Gandalf successfully named Bifur, Bofur, Oin, and Dori, though he mistook Ori for Bombur, and was at a complete loss for the rest.

“How many did you say you had left to figure out?” he asked, a little exasperated.

Bilbo, who had watched the proceedings with no small amount of humour, smiled. “I’m missing three, though I think I might have them now.” Pointing to the eagle, he said, “Fili.”

“Caw!” Kili said.

“Ah, yes,” Gandalf said, peering at the eagle. “The eyes give him away. I could hardly tell in this dim light.” Cocking a smile back, he pressed, “And the last two?”

“Bombur is the squirrel and Gloin is the wolverine,” Bilbo said, hoping he was right.

Kili blinked once, twice, and then cawed, paused and cawed again.

“Thirteen for thirteen,” Bilbo said with a self-accomplished smile, and several of the dwarves cheered.

“You’re very good at that. I never would have guessed Ori.”

“I saw him put his things into a pile this morning. That’s how I figured out a bunch.”

“Ah. So you cheated.”

“I observed. There’s a difference.”

“When I was not there.”

“Not my fault you weren’t there.” Bilbo regretted the words instantly and looked down at Balin gently snoozing in his lap to hide his dark blush.

A large hand took his shoulder gently and made him look up into Gandalf’s sorrowful face. “I am sorry I wasn’t there,” he said, soft and gentle. “It was not fair of me to abandon you in a place known for magical mishaps. My mind was on other things, but I should have known better, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“It’s not your fault this happened,” Bilbo replied. 

“Nor is it yours.”

“I should have tried harder to convince them.”

“You did what you could.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to retort, to say that it wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t enough, when the owl in his lap stirred and, blinking open large eyes, voiced a sleepy hoot.

Bilbo had only enough time to understand that he had indeed heard Balin hoot softly and then he was nearly bowled over by Dwalin. Only Gandalf’s steadying hand kept him upright.

“Hand him to me, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “I will look him over. Could you find something for him to eat?”

A chuff beside him alerted Bilbo to Thorin, who held the remains of a rabbit in his mouth. He couldn’t help but freeze at the sight of the bloodstained muzzle and teeth. Kili cawed, but he didn’t really hear him. Dwalin growled, Dori bleated, and Thorin set down the rabbit and backed away.

Bilbo waited until the wolf had retreated to his spot under the tree on the far side of camp before he breathed again and dared to pick up the rabbit. Using Bombur’s knife from his pack, he cut thin slices from what remained of the rabbit, making sure there were no bones or fur for Balin to choke back up later–he knew that much about owls, at least; they couldn’t digest everything they ate. 

Gandalf fed him carefully and slowly, clearly uncertain about Balin’s stomach after an entire day without food, but Balin ate with enthusiasm and, other than being a bit sluggish in movement, showed no sign of discomfort or pain. Dwalin sat down right beside Gandalf to keep an eye on his brother.

Bilbo scooted out of Dwalin’s way and left to check on the ponies. Myrtle whickered at him and nuzzled his neck as he scratched between her eyes. 

“Hullo, old girl,” he whispered to her. “It’s been quite the day, hasn’t it?”

He didn’t expect a reply, not from the ponies at any rate, but a soft yip had him whirling around. Nori yipped again and trotted over, sniffing at a nearby bush.

“I take it you’re on watch,” Bilbo said quietly.

A soft answering yip.

He shivered and looked up at the sky. A few puffy clouds blocked the stars overhead and the wind blew; more clouds descended from the west, but were still some ways off. Rain was coming. He hoped it would hold off until after breakfast tomorrow. Getting packed up in the wet sounded terrible. 

He gave Myrtle’s nose a few more strokes before he stepped away. “Goodnight, Master Nori,” he said.

“Well,” Gandalf announced, when Bilbo returned, “Balin seems no worse for wear, though he is certainly tired. It is unlikely he will be able to fly anywhere, so you will have to carry him again tomorrow.”

“We’re leaving?” Bilbo asked as he moved to bank the fire.

Gandalf smiled kindly behind his thick moustache. “We must. We are on a quest after all. At least tomorrow I will be here to assist you better. We should aim for no later than the second hour after sunrise.”

“So late?”

“Unless our dwarves magically become themselves again overnight, which I highly doubt, then we will need to feed them, as well as feed and water the ponies, in addition to seeing to everything else. We two must make do with what fifteen had done originally. It will take time, but we’ll be all right.”

“If you say so,” Bilbo murmured.

“I do,” Gandalf said, because he had to have the last word, more often than not.

Bilbo nodded his head and finally set up his own bed. At least they were out of the dells, though he was sure that even wild magic would balk at bespelling a wizard such as Gandalf. 

As he lay down and tried to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground, something approached from behind him and settled a scant foot away. When he turned his head, it was to see Dori, legs folded under him, with Ori curled up on his woolly back. They stared at each other for a moment, then Dori huffed and Bilbo rolled back over.

Only to find Bofur, Bifur and Bombur barely a few inches from his face. Raccoon and badger had dragged their beds over to his and now were making a haphazard nest right beside his head. 

_Bilbo, lad, why don’t you come sleep by me tonight? If you’re worried, we’ll keep you safe._

Bofur’s words from only last night (though it seemed like a century ago) echoed through his heart, and he bit back the grateful tears that choked him. He blamed his emotions on the tumultuous day, but he was smiling as he tugged his blanket tighter around him.

He was asleep within the minute. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s Company as Animals
> 
> Thorin: black wolf  
> Fili: golden eagle  
> Kili: raven  
> Balin: barn owl  
> Dwalin: black bear  
> Oin: porcupine  
> Gloin: wolverine  
> Bifur: badger  
> Bofur: raccoon  
> Bombur: red squirrel  
> Dori: dorset horn sheep  
> Nori: red fox  
> Ori: stoat


End file.
